Tuesday, February 12, 2013

New Orleans: A play by play of my Mardi Gras trip.

Editor's note: All names have been omitted to protect all parties involved, Nola is like Vegas to a certain extent, I'll share as much as I feel I can to be entertaining but protect reputations.
View from Tropical Isle Balcony: 10:00am

I have long hated New Orleans because of how their Super Bowl with the Colts ended. I thought it was stupid to rebuild a city built below sea level and the show Treme sucks. But it came time for my annual spring break trip and it didn't look like a ski trip was going to happen and one of my buddies was planning a trip to New Orleans, so on a particular stressful day of work I pulled the trigger and bought a one way flight to Mardi Gras. (Note: 90% of my travel purchases happen when I'm pissed off at work, because as long as I can have something to look forward to, I know everything will be ok.)

Flash forward to my birthday week. I have my last day on touch and then about 48 hours to prepare for this epic bender of a weekend. The group I was going with are some of the more epic party people I know. I was excited, nervous, ready.

Wednesday:
On Wednesday morning I left Venice at 4 in the morning to drop my car on some random side street in Westchester (no street cleaning days) from there I ubered it to the airport (ballin') I landed in New Orleans around 3pm and immediately bussed it to my hostel. Now I know you think at age 26 that hostels should be a thing of the past, but it was one of the most pleasant experiences of my life. Hostels are not for poor people they are for serious travelaholics.

Immediately upon arriving at the India House Hostel I was offered a beer by a group of Australians and we sat by the bar of our hostel's above ground pool (seriously how charming is that? I thought above ground pools were only found in northwest suburbs of Chicago) We were joined by a group of 9 Irish/Scottish/Canadian travelers and before I knew it I had 12 new friends.

We polished a handle of rum and walked to our first parade of the trip. A 20 minute walk where I got to know each of the life stories of this group, people I had met a mere hour ago. Meeting new people. That's why I stay one should stay in hostels.

The parade was raucous but not in the stereotypical way you might imagine Hollywood portraying Mardi Gras, it was more of a college football tailgate. Moms sitting on coolers, dads throwing the ball with their kids, everyone drinking beer and trying to collect free shit. Beads, candy...you name it, New Orleans really does have a small town feel when you are along these parades route. Everyone comes out to support their favorite Krewe. Oh what is a Krewe? A Krewe is kind of like a gang of sorts or team, they spend all year long trying to organize the best parades, build the best floats, throw the best swag. All in all I think there are about 50, so that means 50 parades during the 2 weeks of Mardi Gras season. Wednesday night after a brief stop at a local pub and some dancing we called it early, don't want to blow your whole load the first night.
A round of hurricanes at Pat O'Brien's

Thursday
As sad as I was to see my international friends go, it was time to check into the Best Western Bourbon Street and start the real party. If you know who I went with, it won't surprise you that within 15 minutes of check in, we were ripping shots, popping adderall and planning our immediate walk to Pat O'Briens. 7 guys from all across the country with one goal, get fucking obliterated (and see lots of boobs) well we did just that. What followed was 3 hurricanes each (like a hairy bear but dark red) at Pat O'Brien's, 5 hand grenades each (like an AMF but green) at the tropical Isle balcony (this is where we had our first round of flashing of the trip...Chicago public elementary school teachers HA and then we felt like we were sufficiently ready to head to Krazy Korner for the Indiana Game. I don't remember much of what happened next. My buddy Dub coined a move called "The Gronk" it's when you steal a girls drink, chug it and then spike it on the floor. The last thing I remember is ordering 5 shots for myself after we lost it shouldn't have been a surprise when I woke up in the bathtub covered in my own vomit.
2 girls about to perform a leez reez, girls can do it too.

Friday
I emerged from the bathroom to find the room covered in Bud Light Platinum bottles and broken glass. Someone had taken our hotel room art work and smashed it to all over the place. It would be a safe bet that it was WWF inspired, we were DDT'ing each other all weekend because...why not? Being that our room was covered in glass and likely some sort of venereal disease, we figured it a good idea to get straight to Bourbon Street. We caught a few parades on the way and then found ourselves at our new favorite spot, the Tropical Isle balcony.

We then spent the next 12 hours shouting at girls to flash us under the chant "Tits out for the boys!" Once we grew tired of breasts "Labias out for the boys" but apparently exposing genitalia carries a 1000 dollar fine, so we settled with "my buddies going to suck on your left titty, I'm going to suck on your right titty and it doesn't count unless we have a picture that we can send to all of our friends." This is called a Leez Reez The success to face slap ratio was about 1 to 4 which is not that bad all things considered.
We then ventured for a quick beer at Lafitte's blacksmith shop, it's the oldest bar in the USA before venturing to get some of the greatest crawfish in the bayou.

I was too drunk to figure out the "twist and pull" manuever so I settled for a filet cooked rare, I may be a pussy but I do not regret my decision. Around this time we went back to get dressed for the one night club of the trip. You'll notice the details of each day get hazier and hazier until I flat out can't remember anything. The club was fun, we attempted Bourbon Street at 7 am after the club, I think it was us and the street sweepers a depressing sight.

Tropical Isle Hand Grenade, the shark is from the shark attack shot

Saturday
I didn't get out of bed until about 3pm Saturday, my body was already breaking down and I didn't yet have a return flight, this was giving me massive anxiety. Sunday flights $800. Fuck. Monday flight $250 dollars but it goes to Atlanta, has a 4 hour layover, and gets me into LA at midnight. Whatever, the shit I'll do to save a buck.

Finally, after booking the world's most miserable day of travel, I head out to meet my friends where they were again running back and forth between Patty O's and The Tropical Isle. At this point my friends and I were pretty much at peak degenerate status. Phrases like "let's just go to the bathroom and fuck...it'll be like real quick." were not offlimits (Also, I don't think thats a good selling point to a chick.

I promise it will be like 3 pumps. If a chick is going to degrade herself to fucking in a bathroom I'm sure she wants to at least enjoy it and not just be your cum recepticle.) We were all horribly sun burnt because a bunch of bros don't bring things like sun block on vacations to the Gulf of Mexico. We had a nice meal at Bayou Burger, I personally went with the crocodile burger, pretty tender.

We polished the night off with a solid 8 hour trip to a karaoke bar called the Cat's Meow, where I brought the house down with a moving rendition of Nelly's Ride With Me. The key to all these bars is that they all have balconies facing eachother. There are literally millions of people lining these balconies, shouting things across, throwing beads, chucking beers. It's a real cooperative experience. The guys want to see boobs, the girls want the prettiest beads.

Sunday/Monday
We're out of Adderall, we're out of booze, our hotel room has a $400 clean up fee. There are two mysterious girls crying in the bathroom. It's the peak of shame. When all the dopamine in your body is gone and you think you may never experience happiness again, it's probably time to call the trip. We won, we bonded as a group, we have lots of fun inside jokes and lots of stories that we will never tell. Hell we even convinced a few drunken girls to let us get some horribly inappropriate photos with them...but no. We had to push it. One more hurricane, one more bar...one more IU game...ok I'll get out of bed for one more.

Bad decision.

Next thing I know, I am as drunk as I have been the entire trip, and the bar that is playing the IU game has dollar shots, dollar beers, and the greatest brass band I have ever heard.
As you know IU crushed Ohio State and there was just enough Euphoria left in the air to get my friends to a taxi and home to New York/Sacramento/Indianapolis/Hermosa Beach...but then there was me....all alone, experiencing early symptoms of alcohol poisoning, stuck in a parade route with 10 bucks in my pocket and a reservation at a hostel 5 miles away.

I used all of my remaining energy to bribe a cab driver with said 10 dollars and a stick of beef jerky to take me to the India House hostel.
I checked in and saw all of my friends from Wednesday partying at the pool again. Not this time guys. I through all my shit on the closest bunk and crashed. Except I couldn't I was so drunk/hungover/dehydrated I could not sleep. Just sit there and sweat and listen to the old man next to me and his emphyzema symptoms.

I tried to go watch the Grammy's on the communal couch with the New Zealand girls but I felt too bad about my constant sweating and sauntered off back to bed. I rolled out of bed at 2 am and took a cold shower, using 2 miller lite promotional shirts I had been given to dry off before throwing them in the trash and hopping back into my bunk like a wet dog.
 Just as I was about to doze off at 4 am, some guy and a fat chick start making out right next to my bunk. I groan a bit thinking they'll choose another cabin, but it only drives them to the shower where he rails her for the better part of 2 hours (and she was a screamer, but good for him on that performance. He must have been juicing.)

Monday morning rolls around and I finally drag myself to breakfast at noon and swap stories of mischief with all my Aussie/Euro/Canadian friends and it cheered me up just a bit so that I almost for got about the next 12 hours of my life. These are truly friendships that I cherish and I hope to meet them on the road again some day.
Progression of the work week hangover
My travel day
1pm. My cab arrives.

2pm. I get to the airport.

3pm I board my plane. I can barely walk, and my throat feels like it is constricting my wind pipe, but I catch my first break. EXIT ROW! YES! But it's only a 1 hour flight to Atlanta. A 1 hour flight Northeast.

5pm. Lost an hour. It's 5 in Atlanta. 4 hour layover busiest airport in the world. I try to explore a bit but my muscles are so sore and deprived of water that I cannot walk without assistance. One of my buddies the day before used a handicap cart to get around, I can't bring myself to ask. I go order Subway. Can't put it down, throw the remaining 11 inches away and go puke up the first inch. 3 hours go by I try to order some more food. It's no use. I go lay in the corner seizing and gasping for air the remainder of time until boarding.

9pm. Boarded my plane. Full 5 hour flight. Fuck. I just want to be in my bed watching the Walking Dead

12am pacific. Ok. I'm back in LA and thank god my roommate is a saint and picked me up. I made it into bed at 2am.

Not as eco-friendly in New Orleans

The only word to describe the trip is "epic." Some of the greatest memories of my life with some of the coolest guys. Unfortunately I'm not 21 anymore and can't handle the 5 day blackout of spring break. Go to Mardi Gras. Go for 3 days only. And always remember to hydrate.

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